


flambe

by againstmygreeleaf



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Delirium, Fluff, Gen, Pointless, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-23
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2019-02-05 21:44:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12803007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/againstmygreeleaf/pseuds/againstmygreeleaf
Summary: Generally soup does not warrant a fruit’s presence, but this is a space fruit and it has a suitable savory tang.





	flambe

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm currently a disgusting mucus mutant...And out of my choice of two yellow punching bags to vent on, one being Hunk and the other being Fuu from YuYuYu, I picked the former. Torture the poor dude so much on here, what's one more fic? 
> 
> Besides, Fuu has canon torture coming at her with the new content of YuYuYu s2 just around the corner. I can smell it. Finally new content, I was so bummed and so confused as to why we got the Washio Sumi films recycled and then had a full s1 recap on top of it. What was that crap, c'mon. I'm really excited for new content. If I live to see it at all that is, provided I don't drown in my own snot first...

“You should be in bed,” Shiro declares reproachfully, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Believe me, that’s my next destination,” Hunk mutters, pawing through the cabinet. A headache stabs through his skull and his muscles protest every movement. His body trembles for the comfort of his bed and that’s exactly where he’s going to drag it as soon as he’s done here.

“Yeah, man.” Lance frowns, leaning back against the wall. “You’re burning up. Just let us make you something.”

Hunk scoffs at that and it sets off a coughing fit. He pushes his mouth into his elbow as they rattle out of him one after the other, chest sore and crackling.

“No,” he croaks as soon as it’s through. “I’d trust you guys with my life. With my kitchen? No way.”

“Your kitchen?” Coran echoes skeptically.

“Yeah, mine,” Hunk says between sniffles. “Come on, even Allura likes it better when the kitchen is mine so it’s gonna stay that way.”

He finds the flavoring he was looking for and it takes him two tries to pop the tab open. The frustration of fumbling grinds on him and he glares down into the broth as he sprinkles some in.

“That’s not true,” Coran argues. He pauses and sends a sidelong glance to Allura. “Is it?”

Allura’s facial markings brighten as a blush unfurls beneath them. “Well…I have to admit, I am rather fond of all the new cuisine.”

Coran’s shoulders slump in petulant betrayal and Hunk takes a Zupkyn fruit from the basket, planting it down on the cutting board.

Generally soup does not warrant a fruit’s presence, but this is a space fruit and it has a suitable savory tang.

“Maybe I should cut that,” Keith suggests uncertainly, rising from his chair.

“Nope.” Hunk swallows a few coughs and waves Keith back as he grabs a knife. “Slicing fruit is way more delicate than slashing a sword, this is my department. Besides, I don’t get what’s with all of you hovering around like this.”

“Are you kidding? You look like you’re about to pass out,” Pidge blurts, brow scrunched in concern. “We have to make sure you don’t do it over the stove.”

“Not gonna pass out,” Hunk mumbles, rolling his eyes as he cuts into the fruit.

Even his hands are achy and his knuckles throb when he adjusts his grip on the knife. Sweat slicks his hands, beads of it rolling down the lines in his palms and catching between his fingers. He manages to shave the slices of fruit paper thin anyway. Keith would’ve diced it, he’s sure.

Amateur.

He adds the slices to the now boiling broth and goes to turn it down to a simmer, but pauses the moment he touches the dial. The bubbles sound…weird. Not just normal bubbling sounds, but almost like they’re whispering. Trying to tell him something, maybe?

He stares into the broth intently, trying to decipher its message.

“Buddy? You okay there?” Lance slinks over and puts a hand on his back.

Hunk smothers a few coughs into his shoulder and then spares him a watery glance. “Don’t you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

Hunk gestures to the pot. “S’like it’s saying something.”

Lance’s eyes widen, flashing with alarm.

“Oookay,” Pidge announces loudly from behind him. “Who’s dragging him to bed? I call Not It.”

“I’m fine.” Hunk shakes his head and shrugs Lance off. He doesn’t feel fine, he feels awful, actually. He has to suppress shivers as the chill ebbs away at him and his headache’s getting worse. The lights are so bright in here they seem to be pulsing out of the confines of their panels.

But he has to hold out long enough to eat something, get some nutrients in before he sleeps off whatever this bug is.

Shiro sighs heavily. “Can we help under your instruction, at least? You’d finish the soup faster.”

“No. You can’t touch anything I touch, I’ve got space germs.” Hunk pointedly crams another coughing bout into his elbow. His chest is heavy with coughs in plentiful supply and his throat’s getting raw from one spasm after the next scraping out.

“Which is another reason you should be laying down,” Coran points out. “You should be quarantined.”

“As soon as I’m done,” Hunk promises, voice rough but determined.

He does finish, eventually.

Coughing and sniffling, fumbling and stumbling, all the while his friends still trying to convince him to lie down. The squeaking of cupboards and boiling bubbles try to distract him by mimicking speech. The room starts spinning along the way and further compromises his straining focus.

He finishes a full pot anyway and pours himself a bowl before he promptly fills the cleaning unit with every utensil he put his hands on.

Allura pulls the chair out for him and Hunk slumps into it gratefully, closing his eyes for a moment. The room is still spinning and that isn’t conductive to eating. When he opens his eyes it’s not any better, but he didn’t push himself through aches and chills just to waste the soup, so he tries a spoonful anyway.

Hunk is too stuffed up to taste it. Swallowing agitates his throat. He isn’t nauseous, but his congestion is so thick it makes eating disagreeable. All his effort was for naught. He puts the spoon aside without taking another taste and just forlornly watches the steam rise up from the bowl.

“What’s wrong?” asks someone. Keith, he thinks, but somehow he’s not sure.

“Not hungry,” he mumbles.

“What?” A squawk of disbelief. Lance, probably. “But it took you over an hour to make!”

And it felt like it took even longer than that but the first taste didn’t go well and now food itself just seems really unappetizing. Hunk shrugs and tucks his mouth into the crook of his arm to cough some more. Allura starts rubbing his back and he means to thank her, but the thought carries away like a feather in the wind by the time he’s made it through the fit.

A few minutes must slip away from him too because the next thing he knows, the bowl’s being taken away. A hand finds his shoulder and something beeps close to his ear.

“Alright,” Shiro’s saying, definitive. “That’s even higher than it was this morning, come on, you’re going to bed.”

“How far’s that?” Hunk asks, hazy. He’s never calculated the distance between his room and the kitchen. Probably something he should’ve thought about before. Thinking is hard right now, his head hurts and the room doesn’t want to stay still.

“Not too far.” Lance gives him an encouraging pat on the arm. “We’ll help you, don’t worry.”

Hunk is glad he’s been told as much because he was pretty close to worrying, actually. About what exactly, he can’t place. Something. Maybe everything. They’re in space and he doesn’t know how far away his room is. Or what direction it’s in, for that matter.

Shiro does, apparently, because he’s helping him up. Hunk slumps into him with an apologetic hum and tries to find his feet. This is a task more difficult than it should be, the floor rising and falling under him as though it’s breathing. Since when does the floor have to breathe?

It can’t, right? It’s not alive. It’s metal.

But the Lions are metal and they’re alive. Or are they?

Hunk’s not quite sure and his uncertainly makes him uneasy.

“Do the Lions breathe?” he asks, the question getting lost in another harsh cough.

If the Lions do breathe, they must be doing a better job of than Hunk is. His chest twinges with each inhale and thick, scratchy coughs keep catching on the exhales.

Shiro drags him out of the kitchen and down the hall. Hunk nearly stumbles but Shiro’s got a good grip on him and keeps him steady. The walls seem to ripple and shimmer, like the ocean does when you look out at it from a distance. That’s not so bad, Hunk thinks. Maybe it reminds Lance of home.

“Almost there,” Shiro says lightly. “How you doing?”

“Glad you’re in charge,” Hunk croaks, because he’s already forgotten where they were supposed to be going.

Shiro gives him a small smile and continues dragging him along. Eventually they’re in Hunk’s room and Shiro deposits him in the bed. He makes him lie back and Hunk sinks into the mattress’s spongey solace. He reaches for the blanket but it’s too far, clumsy fingertips only just skimming over the fabric. Shiro takes it and pulls it up to Hunk’s neck, letting out a quiet sigh as he smooths out the wrinkles.

“Thanks,” he mumbles.

“You’re welcome.” Shiro squeezes his shoulder. “Rest easy, okay? The kitchen’s off limits until that fever breaks.”

Hunk turns his face into the pillow as some more coughs grate out. When they dwindle away, he lifts his head and nods wearily. Shiro smooths some hair back from his face and takes his leave. Hunk lets his eyes droop closed.

He doesn’t open them until something cold touches his cheek. Pidge’s face comes into view as she moves her hand, planting a chilly palm against his forehead.

“You’re cooking,” she mutters.

What? Hunk thought he was finished with that. Didn’t Shiro say as much?

“I leave something in the oven?” he wonders, struggling to recall.

Pidge scoffs, drawing her hand back. “Just your brain.”

Hunk frowns and stares at her in open confusion, completely at a loss. Before she can explain herself, he’s coughing some more. Pidge shuffles a few steps back and waits until he’s through to come close again.

“Another pillow might help. Want me to go get you one?”

“Yeah,” Hunk says, wincing at the prickle in his throat. “You’re the best.”

“I know.” Pidge grins.

Hunk’s asleep before she even leaves the room.

* * *

When Hunk wakes up again, he discovers his head is clearer. His thoughts are solid and sensible, and they don’t drift away when he blinks. He tries to sit up and groans as his body protests, muscles leaden and aching.

“Hey, there you are.”

Hunk looks over to find Lance peering at him, seated by the bed in Allura’s hover chair. He’s got a few water pouches balanced on the armrest and a tablet in his lap. He shifts around and peels a lukewarm cooling patch off Hunk’s forehead.

“How do you feel?” he asks, casually flinging it over his shoulder. Even when he’s not trying, his aim is on point. It drops right into the trashcan.

“Like my Lion sat on me,” Hunk mutters.

“I bet.” Lance grimaces. “Lemme check something real quick.”

Hunk gives a soft grunt at the unpleasantly cold intrusion of the ear thermometer. He only has to tolerate it for about ten seconds, then it gives a conclusion beep and Lance takes it back.

“Hey, at least your fever’s finally down,” he offers brightly, surveying the reading.

Hunk winces. “Too loud.”

“Oops. Sorry,” Lance says, pointedly quieter. “I’m just happy. You had us kinda worried for a minute there.”

“Yeah?” Hunk sighs and worms an arm out of the blankets, folding a hand over Lance’s and giving a reassuring squeeze. “I’m alright. I mean, I totally feel like crap, but it’s nothing to worry about.”

“Well if you’re not worried it’s definitely a good sign.” Lance chuckles but Hunk notices the glimmer of relief in his eyes and the subtle slackening of his posture. “So here, have some water.”

Lance grabs a pouch and puts the straw to his lips. Hunk drinks agreeably, too thirsty to care that it swishes lukewarm and stale between his teeth.

“You want something to eat too?” Lance asks as he draws the pouch back. “I could make you something light.”

“Didn’t I cook earlier?” Hunk squints in thought. He’s pretty sure he did, but also knows he was out of it enough that the memory might be unreliable.

“Not earlier, my friend, that was yesterday…and we ate it all.”

“What?” Hunk stares at him, positively aghast. “I’m sick and you guys ate my soup?”

“Well Keith tried to feed you once but you were only up for like three minutes, and you weren’t really like _up_ up, you were still super delirious—“

“Wait, _Keith_ tried to feed me!?” Hunk gasps in surprise, wincing when the volume hurts his throat and his head. It turns into a cough.

“Yeah,” Lance hums, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “He was pretty freaked out, he wanted to do something. But I didn’t think he was being gentle enough and neither did Pidge, so it turned into a fight and that bowl ended up on the floor.”

“And you guys just, what? Ate the rest?” Hunk raises a brow.

“Pretty much,” Lance admits, squeaky with guilt. “It was so good, I guess no one realized there wasn’t any left until it was all gone.”

“Guess I’ll take it as a compliment,” Hunk sighs wistfully. “I’m not really hungry anyway.”

“No?” Lance frowns at that. “You gotta have something, man. You didn’t eat at all yesterday.”

“Later,” Hunk mutters just to appease him. He feels icky and achy and swallowing the phlegm dripping down the back of his throat is uncomfortable enough without food added to the mix.

“I’m gonna hold you to that,” Lance promises, trace of a warning in his tone.

“Okay,” Hunk agrees. He can’t actually guarantee he’ll feel like eating later, but he knows Lance is only pushing because he cares.

“At least drink some more water.” Lance picks up another pouch.

“Mm…don’t wanna have to pee. Then I’d have to get up.”

“Getting up wouldn’t be so bad. C’mon, it’ll be an opportunity to get you clean sheets.”

“No. Too sore.”

“How about I carry you?”

Hunk laughs at that. The laughing causes more coughing and the next thing he knows, he’s pretty much forced to drink the water just to get the coughs under control.

“You did that on purpose,” he grouses between sips of the straw.

“No way,” Lance dismisses, smug little smirk on his face saying otherwise.

Hunk rolls his eyes and drinks until the pouch is depleted, the plastic crinkling loud enough to aggravate his headache.

“There. Happy?”

“Yes. Don’t pout, you need fluids if you’re gonna get better.” Lance tosses the empty pouch behind his head and it too drops squarely into the bin.

“I know,” Hunk relents, sighing out. He’s glad he can think again, that the world around him is making more sense. He still doesn’t feel well though, he feels like garbage rotting in a heatwave. “I think I’m gonna go back to sleep.”

“Sure, buddy. Sleep it off.”

“I know this is really boring and my room is totally full of germs, but could you stay a little longer?”

“Of course,” Lance says, smiling gently. “But if I get sick, you’ve gotta make me that soup you made yesterday. That stuff was delicious.”

“Rub it in why don’t you,” Hunk grumbles. But when he settles in and Lance smooths another cooling patch to his forehead, he really doesn’t mind at all.


End file.
